


I Heart You, Bitch

by HalfshellVenus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Slash, Valentine's Day, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/pseuds/HalfshellVenus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For LiveJournal's <b>spn_vday</b>, the boys go allll the way for the first time. Awkwardly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Heart You, Bitch

~*~

"Did you know," Sam starts off.

Dean's guard is up already, because that opening is usually a prelude to something Dean _does_ in fact know, and probably chooses to ignore.

"… that tomorrow is Valentine's Day?" 

Dean cracks a half-smile. "Why no, Sammy, I had no idea. Thank you for bringing that to my attention."

"Dean!"

He knows by heart what Sam's face looks like right now, which is exactly why he's setting out the knives and focusing on _them_.

"I was thinking we could do something special," Sam continues.

_Were you, now._ Dean examines the blade on the mid-weight dagger in front of him. "You gonna read me poetry in bed?" he asks. "Or no, wait—you're gonna _write_ me a poem! That'll be good. Don't forget to mention my lips." Dean puffs them out in a pout for Sam, who scowls and then tilts forward suddenly as Dean runs his tongue over them teasingly.

"Um…" Sam seems distracted. "Yeah. I mean—no. No, that's not what I'm getting at."

"A romantic getaway at a Bed and Breakfast, with a whirlpool tub and rose petals on the bed?"

"Get serious, Dean." Sam frowns for a moment, but it quickly turns into a grin. "Though it’d be worth it to watch you die of embarrassment in the lobby." 

"I'm already embarrassed by this whole conversation," Dean deadpans. "So was there a point to it?" He wraps up the knives and stows them in his duffle bag.

"Yes," Sam leans back on the bed and just looks at him. "Valentine's Day. Something special. Something new."

Dean crosses his arms, eyes Sam confidently. "There's not a lot that's new to me. But I’m not doing any trannies or kinky shit like that."

"Oh, this would be new," Sam says. "New between you and me, at least."

"I'm not eloping with you, Sam."

"It’s okay, I had my heart set on a June wedding anyway." Sam is imperturbable now, and Dean's nonchalance begins to waver.

"New how?" He blurts out.

"It's been almost a year Dean, and we haven't fully consummated our relationship yet."

"Must've been someone else who sucked me off in the car last night, then. I definitely didn’t imagine it."

"Okay yes, we've done _that._ And hands-jobs and some really creative dry-humping—"

Dean detours down a few memories of that last part, and yeah—that's just alllll good.

"—but we haven't gone all the way yet."

Dean pulls up a chair and sits down. "What, are we still in high school? Who calls it that, anyway?"

"People who know the difference between when you've really done it and when you haven’t."

"Why all this sudden interest?" It’s not that Dean hasn’t thought about this before—hell, _obsessed_ over it is probably more accurate. But he can’t help being afraid that it would just go wrong somehow—that it might be the thing that pushes Sam away again instead of bringing them closer.

"Because you’re holding back on me, and we need to get past that."

Well, fuck. How does Sam always _know?_

Sam laughs. "Thanks for the confirmation. You should see your face!"

_Double_ fuck. "Uh…"

Sam sits up and moves down the bed closer to Dean. "Look," he says quietly, "it’s not rocket science. We both know the basics, so why keep dancing around it?"

"Well, for starters…" Dean fixates on the safety of his own hands as he speaks, "Who’s going to be the doer and who’s going to be the do- _ee?_ Have you thought about that?"

"We could trade off," Sam answers. "If you’re that worried, I’ll go first on the receiving end."

Sam makes the whole thing sound so simple, and it just _isn't._ "What if… what if you hate me for it afterward?"

"Dean." Sam squeezes his hand firmly. "It'll be all right. You'll see."

There's such reassurance in Sam's eyes, it's like a doorway into a place that Dean had long ago given up on ever finding. He finds himself falling into that feeling, getting up to join Sam on the bed and pull him close.

"You're sure?" he whispers.

"More than sure." Sam's kisses flow down through the edges of Dean's disbelief, rendering it silent at last.

Sam's mouth is silky sweet, his hair thick and soft around Dean's fingers. Dean loses himself in kissing, touching, and tracing fingers over bare skin.

It's not long before their clothes are off and Dean is entranced with the smooth, lengthy heat that is Sam. He splays his fingers over Sam's chest, sweeps them up over those shoulders and neck and leans in to lick and suck that spot to the side of Sam's jaw, that place under his ear that goes all the way down toward the collarbone. The sweet-salty taste of Sam there is so tempting that Dean lavishes attention on it while Sam makes indistinct noises of pleasure as his hands stroke Dean's arm and the back of his head.

Dean can't help grinding slowly against his brother, feeling Sam's response and slipping his hand on down to meet it. He's halfway to starting something good there before Sam pushes his hand away firmly.

"Don't forget why we're here." Sam reaches for the nightstand and pulls out something that looks like—

Lube. 

Great. The fucker had this planned from the get-go. Dean raises an eyebrow at Sam in irritation, but Sam just smiles softly at him and places the lube in Dean's hand with a gentle squeeze.

So. Down to business, then. Dean applies the lube generously and thoroughly, taking extra care with his fingers and drawing the whole thing out until—

"Dean. Quit stalling."

Sam can read him like a goddamned book, and fuck if that isn't annoying.

Fine. Dean puts the lube down and rubs slowly over Sam's opening, encouraged by the way Sam rolls his hips in answer. Dean eases a finger in, watching Sam's face carefully for the slightest sign of—

"Too much?" He stops at once. "Should I… do you want me to…"

"It's all right Dean." Sam breathes out noisily. 

"Maybe we should switch places."

"Because you _want_ to, or…" Sam looks at him sharply, props himself up on his elbows. "This was my idea, remember? It's not like you volunteering to take a bullet for me."

Dean thinks it's _exactly_ like that, but—

"Help me through it a little, _right here,_ " Sam moves Dean's other hand encouragingly, "and it'll be all right. Have you really not done this before?"

"Well, not _this_ kind, no," Dean hedges. "I was never that desperate."

Sam stares at him, backs away up against the headboard. "This is _desperate_ to you?"

"God, no!" Shit, he's screwed it up already. "No, Sam." Dean takes a deep breath. "It's just that doing this, with someone else… it would've been too much like what I knew I could never have. With you. It would've just made me want it more." He lifts his eyes hesitantly, afraid that any next thing he does will be impossibly wrong.

"Oh," Sam whispers. The sound curls around Dean's chest, wrapping him up in its warmth. 

Sam has never understood him so softly before. Dean doesn't know what to think.

"I'm only telling you what I've read, Dean, but I believe we can make this good. Because it's _us._ " Sam smiles suddenly, and just like, that Dean's persuaded.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. Let's try again."

They work in stages, awkwardly at times, and Dean's not usually this patient for so long. He strokes Sam up deep inside, loving the way Sam moans and arches up at that touch, and this is nothing like Dean expected. It's sensuous and compelling, and he suddenly wants more—wants _everything_ —of this moment Sam worked so hard to talk him into.

"Oh God, Sam, can I—"

" _Yes,_ " Sam hisses. He reaches out for Dean's arms, tries to pull Dean down on top of him.

"Okay." Dean tries to switch out his fingers and move in as smoothly as he can. He rolls and strokes over Sam as he goes, finally sinking in and waiting for Sam to catch up.

_God, so tight, so hot and tight and—_ Dean tries to think of something else for a minute, something dull and distracting that will not have him finishing before they've even started. 

"Now, Dean, c'mon—now. Just move a little and—" Sam slips his hand behind Dean's head, urges him down closer for a kiss as he writhes underneath him slowly.

Just like that, everything noble and pragmatic flies out of Dean's thoughts. He stops resisting, stops second-guessing every single move. He strokes Sam's face, swallowing all of Sam's noises as his brother coils so deliciously there beneath him.

_God, Sammy, yeah,_ Dean thinks, as Sam tips his head back and gasps when Dean's hand slides on down to pull and twist.

"Dean!" Sam shudders from his hips up to his neck, and Dean drives it on home as the space between them closes with sudden, slick heat. 

"Sammy," Dean groans against Sam's throat, the sharp thrill of ecstasy running up through him as he shakes in his brother's arms. 

"I'm right here," Sam murmurs, enfolding Dean close in a warm, relaxed embrace.

"You okay?" Dean whispers.

Sam laughs, deep and loud, and Dean feels that coming up all the way through his skin.

"Did you miss the really good part earlier?" Sam teases. "I'm surprised you even had to ask."

"Just wanted to be sure." Dean smiles against Sam's skin. "God, that was perfect. I mean, not _perfect,_ but—"

"I know," Sam answers. "Me too."

They lie there so long that Dean's almost on the verge of dozing off before a sudden thought occurs to him.

"So, weren't we supposed to save this for tomorrow? What'll we do for an encore now?"

Sam props himself up on an elbow and smiles at Dean lazily. "We could always track down that Bed and Breakfast," he says. "Or try _this_ again, now that we don't have to be so nervous."

Sam could have said a lot of things instead, like _I told you so_ , or even _Never again._

But they're both happy, and they know it. There's no need to play games or hide from themselves.

"Whatever you want, Sammy," Dean hears himself say unexpectedly. He leans his forehead into Sam's, nuzzles him with gentle calm. 

"But why wait until tomorrow? If you give me a couple of hours, we can do this again _today_."

 

_\-------- fin --------_


End file.
